Faithful Handyman
by LittleTortillaDaddy
Summary: Mira and Reedus develop a routine which becomes something more.


Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over 'Fairy Tail' nor am I profiting from this.

Pairing(s): Mirajane Strauss/Reedus Jonah.

Thank you so very much for reading. I enjoy reading reviews.

* * *

Mira puts a finger over her straw and gives it another twirl around the glass. Ice clinks and jumps over one another, pushing for a spot at the top. Bubbles hiss and pop as she makes another circle, and an ice cube wins their fight. Everyone else has either packed up their things for the trip home, work, or are preparing to leave. Mira watches from her barstool and kicks her loose heels off. It is an immediate relief which she relishes, stretching her toes and rolling her ankles around.

"I bring this on myself," she mumbles. "I can tolerate these shoes for a photo shoot. I even trek through beaches wearing heels, but the moment these heels are associated with serving?"

Reedus tosses her a small smile before he continues packing up his supplies. "I would assist with serving, but I fear getting in the way."

A couple stumbles towards the door together; another successful drinking night complete. Everyone leaves generous tips, but everyone also leaves their remains. Someone, she never can figure it out, has dumped her tip into the ashtray. Another person balances her tip atop the melted whipped cream in a shake. Already, her sore feet are protesting at the prospect of moving again, despite having a quick rest.

"You're never in the way." Mira hoists a sore foot into her lap and squeezes. "Besides, I've never enjoyed serving another guildmember as much as I enjoy serving you. I never receive cute drawings and notes from anyone else."

Now, in all fairness, Reedus tips her like everyone else. But his little actions: cute napkin drawings and notes make her shift far more pleasant. His notes are simple things, asking she remember to take a break and drink water.

Reedus blushes and ducks his chin as much as his rounded body will allow. His hair and hat provide little protection. Even perched upon her barstool, she can see his cheeks flushing bright pink. His eyes flicker between her face and hand still squeezing her sore foot.

"I could provide some assistant," he says carefully. "I understand some are highly protective over their work. I can gather up these dishes should you wish."

She purses her lips together and glances over the tables. Drinking nights are popular for destroying the guilds cleanliness. Barrels become drained, pantries are emptied, and smokers like Wakaba run through as many packs as possible.

"I have no protectiveness over my work," she says. "Our guild is a complete wreck, though."

Reedus gives a hurried glance over the tables and nods before he can change his mind. Hurriedly, he stashes his supplies and approaches with a determined smile. His pace is much slower than she prefers or would ever use, nor does he use the preferred techniques for picking up dishes, but she makes no complaints. Mira draws her feet up onto the chair and carefully spreads her dress.

"You're a wonderful handyman," she praises. "Do you have any objections to my sharing this handiness with our fellow guild members?"

He blushes again and clutches a sweating milkshake glass to his stomach. It's an endearing sight, which elicits a flutter throughout her stomach. Mira pulls her legs tighter and tighter until she nearly topples backward as she leans further and further back. Her feet have downgraded from severe soreness into a mild tingling, and she could easily climb down and help him with gather up the dishes. Washing can wait until tomorrow morning. Should it be necessary, she can go into the cellar and get the spare mugs, plates, and less than stellar food. But he's managed to gather up and is balancing several glasses and mugs against his chest.

"I can wash them tomorrow." Mira slides from the stool. "I always come in early no matter what's happened the night before. You can just place them onto the table closest to the bar."

"Wee." Reedus resumes his careful shuffle towards the specified table. "I can assist with washing should you wish."

"You've done plenty," she promises and grabs her heels. "I might just wear comfortable shoes tomorrow – you know, as a thank you."

Reedus fishes her tip from the whipped cream. "I like the heels. Well, I like whatever you wear, and you're welcome to wear whatever you wish."

Mira watches his shoulders hunch higher and higher. "Thank you, Reedus. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Wee."

* * *

Reedus begins to learn her preferred and proper ways to carry dishes, and fishes tips from the ashtray and melting whipped cream.

"I always leave sticky." Reedus pouts. "I am either sticky or smell like ashes. Does this work have any benefits?"

Mira tosses him a damp washcloth. "Does my appreciation mean anything? I also share these tips. You really deserve them for doing all the cleaning."

His bashful smile and blush return. It shouldn't cause her stomach to flutter anymore given how that this has become a routine between them. But it still causes her stomach to flutter and heart to jump into hummingbird rate.

"I enjoy helping you," he says quietly. "I enjoy your company."

Her heartbeat jumps into that hummingbird rate again. His fingers are caked with paint and now whipped cream. Her instinct is to slide that damp washcloth further down the bar. But she does something totally different instead. Her heat thunders against her ribcage as she pulls his hand from his lap.

Reedus blinks owlishly and then gapes as she raises his fingers to her mouth. A furious blush creeps up his neck and over his cheeks. Mira drags his fingers over her lips and then slowly pulls them into her mouth.

Her tongue laps over calloused fingertips: sour dried paints, tangy whipped cream sliding beneath his fingernails and down between them. Mira pulls his fingers deeper and deeper into her mouth, tongue flicking over the skin between his fingers to get at missed whipped cream.

Reedus gasps and shifts back and forth in his chair as much as his body will allow. No matter how large his body, though, nothing can hide his developing erection.

"You're not sticky anymore," she says. "I can't do much about the paints, though."

Reedus gives a shaky nod. "I've never been talented with these things. I can only make pretty things with my paints. I don't know how to give pretty things to others without my paints."

"It's not necessary to give anything back."

Now, he wiggles down from his barstool and kneels. "I want to give something, though."

Reedus runs his damp fingertips over her feet and grabs her ankle with his free hand. His fingertips circle her ankle and graze over her calloused soles. Mira grips the bar and gasps as he raises her ankles and peppers her feet with kisses.

His hand moves higher and higher. Reedus continues kissing ankles, soles, and tops of her feet until his hand reaches her bare waistline.

"You look surprised." She giggles. "I prefer it this way. We can save that story for later, though."

His shocked expression dissolved into amusement, and he grabs her waist to hoist her onto the bar. Mira raises her skirt and attempts willing shivers away as her back touches the cool wood.

Reedus smiles and drops down. He lies his tongue against the ball of her foot and grips her ankle. Mira gasps and attempts jerking her ankle away, but it's useless as he slowly drags his tongue up. It continues over her ankle, up her leg, thigh and directly between her legs.

Reedus pauses and admires her: bright pink and shiny beneath a thatch of white hair. Reedus buries his nose into her hair and grabs her hips before she can pull away embarrassed. He does not bother with teasing or careful building. Reedus buries his face between her legs and keeps a firm grip on her hips to prevent her from pulling away. His tongue alternates between long slow drag and furious lapping. Any reaction: gasping, whining, whimpering causes him to bury his face with more determination and turns his focus onto her clit.

Mira reaches down and grasps his hat as her thighs begin quaking.

"I am never wearing comfortable shoes again."


End file.
